


Afternoon in the Hammock

by orphan_account



Category: Glee
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-14
Updated: 2010-07-14
Packaged: 2017-10-10 13:27:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hot afternoon . . . a hammock . . . Kurt fantasizes about tropical islands</p>
            </blockquote>





	Afternoon in the Hammock

A heat wave blankets most of the country, and the air hangs heavy and thick with moisture. The custom-made rope hammock sways gently as Kurt flips idly through the latest issue of GQ, the one featuring the Justin Poortinga retrospective. The man is getting up there in years, but he still looks great in whatever the designers put him in. His blond handsomeness and ripped body haven't faded much. Plus, no one manages to work shredded fishing net better than the luscious Poortinga. Hot man in exquisite clothes . . . Kurt's dick twitches at every picture. He has to remind himself not to drool.

Kurt himself is wearing loose linen pants, with a drawstring waist, the very latest from Armani's summer collection. There's a subtle stripe to the material that pleases him because it's only visible from a certain slant of light. The shirt matches, of course, and Kurt has buttoned only one of the hand-carved shell buttons. He feels elegantly tropical with the outfit as his sole concession to the blistering heat. He doesn't think that difficult weather is any excuse for slacking off one's attire.

The hammock is perfectly placed between two mature white oak trees, just a few steps away from the pool, where the soothing noise of the water contributes to the feeling of coolness.

He sips his iced tea, black chai with a hint of orange and cinnamon, and imagines that he's the owner of a tropical island in some alternate and PC universe. A place where everyone applauds his sartorial sensibilities, and skin color or sexual orientation has never mattered.

The breeze rocks the hammock softly, also moving the leaves shading his bower in gentle patterns. Kurt sets his tea on the reclaimed teak table placed conveniently beside the hammock, sighing happily as he returns to contemplating the blond god adorning his magazine.

His eyes drift shut as the gentle puffs of sultry air tickle him. He fantasizes dreamily about Justin Poortinga dressed in nothing but a sarong wafting a palm leaf fan over his heated body. A smile graces his face as Kurt dozes.

Some endless time later, the hammock rocks violently as another body joins him. Kurt opens sleep-dazed eyes to find himself assaulted by one of the swarthy savages that inhabits his island, a fierce man with his Mohawked hair and barbaric body piercing.

"I like the pants," the islander says, even as his fingers quickly loosen the ties and shove the fine linen down Kurt's hips.

The heavenly feeling of a large warm hand surrounding his dick makes Kurt forget about his outrage over the treatment of his expensive trousers. The savage is wearing cargo shorts, the clothing disaster that is sadly prevalent on the island. Kurt considers ordering all his subjects into grass skirts, but is distracted from thoughts of policy as the barbarian unzips his shorts revealing an impressively hard and large shaft that's pointing directly at Kurt. He gives a tiny gasp as naked flesh touches his most sensitive skin.

The islander grabs his hips, pulling him closer, and then moves his pelvis so that their engorged cocks slide together. Sleep still muffles Kurt's brain, but he thinks he might cede his island over to this man who is so clearly vastly intelligent and highly motivated. He sighs against the man's muscular shoulder, giving it a small lick to taste the salt lingering on his skin. Kurt imagines that the barbarian has been diving for pearls to deck him with and thus his skin carries the lingering salinity from the measureless ocean.

The hammock barely moves as the man sets it swaying with the slight twitches of his hips. Kurt drifts in heat and bliss as pleasure slowly builds within him. The ropes conform to his body perfectly and throw him lightly against the larger man sharing the hammock with him as they swing. Kurt opens his mouth, turning his face like he's seeking the sun. The islander chuckles fondly and nips at his lip, soothing the small sting with his tongue, before pushing it inside Kurt's mouth.

Kurt feels languid and yielding, completely willing to let the savage have his way with him, and control their pleasure. His orgasm builds like a rising tidal wave, but never quite falls over and breaks on him. He whimpers in frustration, wanting it to go faster, but feeling too lazy and torpid from the heat to do anything about it.

His companion laughs again. "Greedy brat," he murmurs, his voice creating a small disturbance in the heavy hanging humid air. He rests his mouth beside Kurt's ear, his moist breath puffing air against that delicate shell.

Kurt is in no mood to argue. His eyes fasten on a tan patch of neck, watching a tiny bead of sweat slowly trace a meandering path down the straining tendon. His climax happens without warning, a slow surge of ecstasy spreading out from his balls, unhurried surges jerking his dick as heated liquid leaves his body. His muscles tense, every one of them contracting as the hammock cradles him and the large hand of his lover steadies him.

"Kurt . . . ," the man breathes reverently, his body bucking, sending the rope hammock swinging wildly as he spurts inelegantly over both of them.

Smiling in satisfaction, Kurt rolls to his back as much as the ropes will let him, as the rocking hammock gradually slows again. His fingers draw idle patterns in the combined mixture of come from the two of him that is adorning his lower torso. He can't be bothered to worry about either the wreck of his clothes or the stickiness that will soon dry and itch. The other man settles beside him, also on his back, his hand sliding down along Kurt's arm to tangle their fingers together. Kurt congratulates himself on having the foresight to order the hammock big enough for two people.

"Not going to bitch about your dry cleaning bill?"

"It's too hot to complain," Kurt answers.

"If I'd known that's all it took to shut you up . . ."

Kurt cracks a bemused eye at him. "You've never seemed to have a problem occupying my mouth," he purrs.

"True."

Puck throws one leg over the side of the hammock, pushing against the ground to keep them moving leisurely. He presses a kiss to Kurt's temple and then his breathing evens out as he dozes. Kurt stares at the patterns of green leaves against the blue sky and contemplates paradise.


End file.
